Holiday Project
by Schattengestalt
Summary: Sherlock has survived his first year at boarding school and wants to enjoy the summer holidays with his big brother, but Mycroft appears to have different plans. Sherlock does everything in his power to figure out what's so important to his brother that he doesn't have time for him. Kidlock.


**Author Notes** : The semester is finally over, all exams are passed and I felt like writing a fluffy OS about the Holmes' brothers as children (or teenagers in Mycroft's case). Enjoy it and let me know what you think. :)

 **Holiday Project**

"You should do your summer homework, instead of floundering about in the water, little brother!"

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at that as he swam another lazy length in the swimming pool. Mycroft knew perfectly well that Sherlock wasn't floundering about in the water, but that he had been swimming for over two hours by now. After 40 lengths through the swimming pool, it was only to be expected that Sherlock wasn't at his fastest anymore. Really, Mycroft should be proud that his nine-year-old brother was so fit, instead of scolding him for it.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft tapped his feet in impatience as he waited at the edge of the pool for him. Sherlock sighed and swam in the direction of his brother. "I have already done my summer homework and I can spend as much time in the swimming pool as I want." Sherlock glared at his brother, but still accepted Mycroft's hand as his brother helped him out of the water. There were stairs, of course, but it had become kind of a tradition between them to leave the pool like this. At least, Sherlock left the pool this way, as he wouldn't be able to pull his brother out of the water.

Blue eyes wandered over the body of his big brother, who couldn't hide anything from Sherlock's searching gaze as he was only clad swimming trunks as well. Yes, he had been right, Sherlock mused to himself as he took in the small belly of his brother and the way Mycroft's swimming trunks hung more loosely on his hips than they ever had. There were also some small dents in his thighs that spoke of fast weight loss.

"Even if you are my brother, I would rather you not staring at my nether regions!" Sherlock's head snapped up at that, blue eyes wide with horror as he met Mycroft's gaze. "I didn't... I was just looking for clues."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at that, but remained otherwise silent and Sherlock was forced to elaborate. "You have lost weight! The dents in your thighs are the last proof for that!" He gestured to Mycroft's legs, to show his brother what he had looked at. "Dents?!"

Sherlock frowned slightly as he noted Mycroft's almost horrified tone and how he peered down at his thighs, before he remembered Sherlock's presence and straightened back up. Interesting, Sherlock filled the information away for later contemplation. It appeared to be another piece of the puzzle, Sherlock was trying to solve since the start of the summer holidays. The puzzle of why his older brother was behaving so strangely since they had come back from Eton. After all, there had to be an explanation, why Mycroft...

"I meant it as a joke before." Sherlock blinked and his focus came back to his brother, who wore a strange look on his face. "I knew that you weren't staring at my nether regions, Sherlock. I was... my thoughts got away from me for a second back then."

Yes, definitely strange behavior. Mycroft had never before bothered to apologize for minor occurrences like that... and Sherlock also couldn't remember when his brother's thoughts had _gotten away from him_ the last time. It was just as well that Mycroft wanted to have the swimming pool to himself now - another strange and new habit - as it gave Sherlock the time to view the new evidence.

"I'm well aware that you are bad at making jokes, dear brother." Sherlock flashed his brother a grin and grabbed the towel that had been thrown over a sunlounger.

"No experiments in the kitchen or in the laundry, Sherlock!" Giggling, Sherlock hurried away from the pool to leave Mycroft to his morning practice.

OOO

"So, what do we have?"

Sherlock leaned against the trunk of a tree - a little away from the house - and stared up into the leaves. The gentle breeze played with his - still wet - curls as Sherlock tipped a finger against his lips. He found it helpful to articulate his thoughts loudly, as it gave him the necessary focus on the problem at hand. It was only good that the schoolwork at Eton wasn't so demanding - at least not for Sherlock - otherwise he would have been rebuked numerous times by his teachers for talking during lessons. Not that there had been many days, when Sherlock hadn't been rebuked during his first year at Eton. And his peers hadn't made up for the narrow-mindedness of his teachers either.

A sigh escaped his lips as Sherlock's minds drifted away from his investigation about Mycroft's strange behavior as he recalled one of his worst experiences in his last school year.

 _"Hey, Holmes!"_

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored his classmate - Michael Jacobis, stupid, with too rich parents and a tendency to bully other children._

 _With other children, Sherlock meant especially himself. From the first week on, Jacobis had made it his mission to turn Sherlock's life into a living hell. The other children were afraid of Jacobis - imbeciles, as if Jacobis had any power if they didn't give it to him - and so they joined ranks with Jacobis against Sherlock. Not that Sherlock had held any hope of making friends at Eton - it would have been nice, but not likely - but he had at least wanted to spend his school years in peace._

 _A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as he regulated the flame of the Bunsen burner. They were working in the labs for the first time and they had been allowed to do some analyses on chemical samples. For now, they were trying to find out in what substances their sample was soluble to narrow down the list of possible ions in it. Sherlock had already progressed from water over hydrochloric acid and was now heating his sample with nitric acid. It wasn't very demanding, but it was better than listening to the math teacher explaining what Sherlock had already known when he was five years old._

 _"Holmes, do you often visit our brother at night?"_

 _There was snickering in the class and Sherlock took a moment to glare at Jacobis. He was aware that the boy was only envious, because Sherlock had a single room at Eton - thanks to Mycroft - and that he should just ignore him. Nonetheless, he hated what Jacobis was implying, especially since it wasn't only aimed against Sherlock, but against his brother as well._

 _"It's sometimes necessary to talk with someone, who doesn't believe that football is the most important thing in the world."_

 _"Oh, and what's the most important thing in the world then, Holmes?"_

 _More snickers._

 _Sherlock growled and turned back to his experiment, only to gasp in horror. The clear liquid of his sample had turned into a deep violet. Potassium permanganate, his mind supplied helpfully. If heated with nitric acid it could lead to an explosion._

 _"What are you doing, Holmes?!" The teacher screamed and before Sherlock could act, the flame of his Bunsen burner - and of all the others - went out as their teacher turned off the gas by pushing the emergency button._

 _All eyes were turned on Sherlock as the teacher stalked towards him. "You could have injured your classmates severely, Holmes! I don't want to ever see you in the labors again!"_

 _"But," Sherlock tried and looked into the direction of Smith - Jacobis' favorite tool - who had been near Sherlock's workstation only moments ago. He must have slipped something into Sherlock`s beaker glass, since it was impossible to miss potassium permanganate in a sample. The deep purple always was a giveaway. Sherlock wasn`t allowed to point any of his observations out as the teacher kept glaring at him. "Out, Holmes! At once!"_

 _The snickers turned into laughers as Sherlock grabbed his bag and hurried out of the lab, fighting against the tears that were threatening to spill over before he could reach the safety of his rooms._

Of course, Mycroft - who was the favorite of all the teachers at Eton - had made sure that Sherlock was allowed to work at the lab again.

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as he remembered that his brother would start university - Cambridge or Oxford, he wasn't sure about that - after the summer was over and that there wouldn't be anyone left at Eton, who would be interested in Sherlock's wellbeing. At least, Sherlock had the chance to spend the summer months with Mycroft, without their annoying parents, which were travelling around the world again.

Sherlock frowned slightly. When was it that he had last seen his? Ah yes, they had spent Easter together - only the weekend not the whole holiday - and before that, it had been Christmas. That thought brought Sherlock back to his initial reasons why he was sitting in the shade of a tree and trying to puzzle something out.

"Christmas, Mycroft started to behave strangely around that time, although it only became obvious in review," Sherlock murmured as he went through the important memories of that celebration in record time.

 _"Mycroft, Darling, do you want to have some pudding?"_

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes at the question. Not because his brother always wanted pudding - especially at Christmas - but more because of the way their mother had asked Mycroft. His parents only bothered to behave like this, when they were surrounded by their extended family or business partners. This year, both parties were represented at the table and therefore it wasn't surprising that their parents were at their best behavior. Mother had even laughed and ruffled Sherlock's curls, when he had informed his Aunt Angie that her husband was having an affair with her best friend. Usually, Sherlock would have been banned from dinner, but that wouldn't have looked good and so he was still here with all these boring people._

 _Dull!_

 _"No thanks, mother, I'm full."_

 _Sherlock's head jerked up at that as he stared at his brother, who had just declined pudding. His mother looked baffled as well, but then she merely shrugged and patted Mycroft's hand, before offering pudding to her other guests._

Mycroft hadn't only declined pudding that day, but at every other day as well. Sherlock played with a blade of grass and closed his eyes as he wandered through the halls of the Nord wing in his Mind Palace, that was reserved for information about his family. That meant, most rooms were filled with memories of Mycroft and him, since their parents weren't important to Sherlock.

There was one memory in particular that appeared more important now than it had been at the time, when Sherlock had filled it away. Mycroft had been forced to go ice skating - his brother hated that sport - with the children of his father's business partners and Sherlock hadn't been allowed to participate. Of course not, Sherlock grinned into the sun, since their parents knew that Mycroft was able to act polite, while Sherlock couldn't be bothered to play nice, when he was annoyed by the stupidity of someone. Still, Sherlock clearly remembered that he had been angry - not sulky as Mycroft had teased him - that he hadn't been allowed to go with them, because he liked ice skating. The only silver lining had been the certainty that Mycroft would come home in an awful mood. That was where Sherlock had been wrong.

 _"How was the ice skating?"_

 _Sherlock grinned teasingly at his brother, who just shrugged out of his coat. Mycroft didn't comment on the fact that Sherlock was in his room, although he hadn't been invited in - he never did. "Believe it or not, it was fantastic!"_

 _Blue eyes widened in surprise as they wandered over Mycroft's flushed cheeks and the huge grin on his face. He wasn't lying and he wasn't even hiding his emotions like he usually did. Sherlock frowned slightly. "Why was it so fantastic?"_

 _Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by their father as he suddenly appeared in the doorway. "When you are finished changing, you can help me with some business papers, Mycroft."_

 _Sherlock glared at their father, about to tell him that his son wasn't one of his employees, but the look on Mycroft's face made him pause. All the happiness had vanished from his brother's face as well as all its color and he looked like he had just woken up from a beautiful dream, only to find himself back in a terrible reality._

 _"Mycroft, are you alright?" The grey eyes of his brother snapped to him, but all the warmth had vanished from their depths. "Go back to your room, Sherlock. I have to hurry to help father."_

 _Usually, Sherlock didn't do what he was told, but as Mycroft looked so upset, he didn't want to give him more grief by disobeying. Sherlock left._

Stupid!

Sherlock ripped the blade of grass to shreds. He had never again asked Mycroft what had happened at that day or even thought about it, but Sherlock was sure that he would be able to work it out for himself now. "Let's see, Mycroft was happy after an outing that he should have hated. He wanted to tell me why he was in such a good mood, but father's presence brought him down from his high."

Sherlock furrowed his brow, so far he could gather from the facts that Mycroft had enjoyed something his father would disapprove of. It couldn't have been anything illegal - Mycroft liked to follow rules - and it couldn't have been the ice skating in itself - Mycroft hated it.

That left... _meeting someone._

Sherlock grinned triumphantly. "So, Mycroft met someone, on the rink, whom he liked. If it was one of the children of father's business partners, he wouldn't have had to worry about father disapproving of them. Ergo, it was someone else Mycroft met there, someone father wouldn't approve of. That means that their family isn't as well of as ours, since father doesn't like to mingle with people that are _below_ him."

Sherlock sneered at the thought. He had been forced to associate with a lot of children that were deemed appropriate company for him and Sherlock hadn't liked one of them. They were so superficial and stupid... it made Sherlock want to scream in outrage. Mycroft found these children just as annoying, but he suffered in silence, while Sherlock deduced as many horrible things about his peers until they ran away crying. So, someone who had gotten Mycroft's attention had to be extraordinary.

"And let's not forget that Mycroft is on a diet since that time. That means that he is worried about his looks. Mycroft wouldn't be worried about this if he had merely made a friend, so that means... my big brother is in love."

A small giggle escaped Sherlock's mouth, even as his lips turned upwards in a huge smile. He was happy for his brother, but... Mycroft hadn't told him about it. Sherlock pursed his lips and tore at another blade of grass. Didn't his brother trust him? The question had just formed in his mind as Sherlock sneered at it. Of course, Mycroft didn't trust him. If he did, Sherlock wouldn't have to work out for himself that his brother was in love with someone.

The realisation hurt more than he would have believed possible. Sherlock took a shaky breath to force back the burning sensation in his eyes. It wasn't that Mycroft and he shared all their secrets with each other - sometimes they only deduced them - but Sherlock felt that Mycroft shouldn't keep something so big from him. After all, it was the first time that his big brother was in love - Sherlock was sure of that - and he should have shared these news with Sherlock.

If Mycroft kept something like this away from Sherlock, did that mean that he wouldn't tell him anything anymore, when he went away to go to university? Sherlock leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and blinked rapidly up into the sun as moisture threatened to spill over. Maybe, Mycroft had done everything in his power to finish a year earlier at Eton so that he could get away from Sherlock.

 _That's stupid, Sherlock,_ a voice that sounded like his brother scolded him. _You allow your sentiments to influence your judgment. There has to be another explanation, why Mycroft didn't tell you about it._

Another explanation. Sherlock shook his head slowly, he couldn't think of any. Probably, because he had never entertained thoughts about falling in love with anyone - nine year olds rarely did. Still, that didn't mean that Sherlock didn't know of a way to find out why Mycroft hadn't told him about his special other.

A grin lit up Sherlock's face - all tears forgotten - as he jumped up from his place in the shade and hurried to the garden shed. He had to hurry if he wanted to be finished with his preparations until this afternoon.

OOO

Of course, the lake!

Sherlock would have slapped his forehead at his own stupidity, if he hadn't feared losing his balance and falling from his bike. Sherlock had spent the whole morning blowing the tires up and making sure that he hadn't forgotten how to drive to prevent a fall.

Mycroft had repaired his own bike, when he had come home from Eton and he used it almost every afternoon for a trip. He had told Sherlock that he was only trying to improve his condition, but Sherlock had never really bought it. Now, coupled with the new knowledge - Sherlock had just gained for himself - it had become obvious that Mycroft went by bike to get to whatever meeting point he had set up with his lover. That also meant that the place was too far away from the house to walk the distance, but not far enough away to go by bus or call a taxi.

Obviously, Sherlock thought as he turned left and followed a path between trees, he should have come to the conclusion that his brother would meet his date at the lake right away. Really, where else would a couple go, when they wanted to be alone? There weren't too many possibilities and although most places around the lake were always crowded with people in the summer, Sherlock knew a more secluded spot. Mycroft had shown it to him, when they had been younger, which made it even more logical that Mycroft would be there.

Sherlock slowed down and followed the red spots with his eyes as the trees around him grew thicker. He wouldn't have had to bind a plastic bag - filled with red paint and with a small hole in it - underneath the basket of Mycroft's bike to follow his trace, if Sherlock had been smart enough to think of the lake right away.

Stupid, stupid!

Sherlock could only hope that he would have the time to remove the plastic bag, before Mycroft noticed it, otherwise his brother would know right away that Sherlock had followed him. If he hadn't already worked it out.

Sherlock sighed. He had only risked this trick, because Mycroft had been distracted these past few days and it had been safe to assume that he wouldn't be as observant as usual when he was about to meet his lover. At least, this part had gone according to plan so far.

Sherlock dismounted his bike and hide it in a bush as he got closer to the lake. The small forest was on a lift, surrounding the lake on three sides and Sherlock thought it wiser to walk the last meters. He didn't want to lose control of his bike in the last moment and fall down at the feet of his brother. Sherlock shuddered at the thought. That would be humiliating.

It was easy to find the small path in the brushwood that led to the secret place, Mycroft had shown Sherlock and he followed it quickly. As soon as Sherlock had reached the edge of the small forest, he heard the voice of his brother.

"I'm sure we can somehow arrange living close together, when I go to university and you start training to become a police officer."

"We could even live together if it is possible, Mycroft."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. That wasn't the kind of conversation he had expected to overhear, when he had followed his big brother. They sounded so familiar with each other. Sherlock inched a little closer and hid behind a tree trunk, so that he wasn't only able to listen to his brother and his lover, but also to see them. Again, the picture of them together wasn't what Sherlock had expected.

The two young men - Sherlock gauged the other one two or three years older than Mycroft - were snuggled together on a towel. They were both clad in only their swimming trunks and Mycroft's head was bedded on the shoulder of the other man.

"It sounds like a dream, Greg," Mycroft breathed a light kiss to the jaw of his lover as Sherlock filled his name away.

He wasn't surprised that his brother's lover was a man - Sherlock hadn't had expectations in any direction - but that they were in such a romantic relationship. And it was romantic, even Sherlock could deduce that much from the way the two lovers cuddled together.

Somehow this was disappointing!

Sherlock gnawed on his lower lip as he watched Greg stroking Mycroft's hair and whispering something into his ear. He really hadn`t expected this!

Alright, maybe Sherlock should have been able to deduce that Mycroft's lover was a man - considering his reaction to their father, after they had just met - but how should he have known that their relationship was like... _this_?! Romantic, affectionate and almost platonic, if you didn't count the light kisses and caresses. It was the perfect relationship, like it was always portrayed in these silly romances on TV. Hell, Sherlock thought as he recalled the part of the conversation he had overheard, Greg was even a decent bloke.

Middle - class - judging from his clothes and his way of speaking - indigenous - judging from his choice of career - and obviously madly in love with Mycroft. Sherlock pressed a hand to his lips and only then realised that it was trembling. He understood why Mycroft hadn't told his parents that he was seeing Greg - homosexuality was only accepted in their house, when they went away to a vernissage - but Sherlock didn't understand why Mycroft hadn't told him about Greg. Alright, it was understandable that Mycroft hadn't told him during the winter holidays or even the Easter break, as their relationship had been very fresh then, but...

Why hadn't Mycroft told him now?

Sherlock swallowed a lump in his throat. When he had followed Mycroft, Sherlock had expected that his brother was only having a passionate affair with someone, which hadn't been worth mentioning. Or maybe - Sherlock hadn't liked that thought - his brother was taking drugs with his lover and was ashamed to tell Sherlock. He had even entertained the thought that Mycroft was in an abusive relationship - as absurd as it sounded - and didn't want to burden his little brother with it. If one of those things had applied - or something equally - Sherlock would have understood why Mycroft had kept his love to Greg a secret, but so...

A tear ran down Sherlock's cheek as he watched Mycroft and Greg kissing slowly. His big brother didn't want Sherlock to be a part of his life anymore. He had kept his relationship a secret, so that Sherlock couldn't find out with whom he was living together when he went to university. Maybe, Mycroft wouldn't even give Sherlock his new address, to prevent his little brother from troubling him.

A small sob escaped his lips. Sherlock would only see Mycroft at family gatherings and Mycroft wouldn't want to listen to his problems anymore and...

"Sherlock!"

His head jerked up at the sound of his name. Both, Greg and Mycroft, were looking in his direction and only then did Sherlock realize that the trunk of the tree wasn't hiding him anymore. Unconsciously, Sherlock must have taken a few steps away from it and now he was in full view of Mycroft and his lover.

Both men had sat up on the towel and were looking at him. It was impossible to clearly see their expression, but Sherlock was certain that his brother wasn't very pleased with him. He probably wouldn't talk to Sherlock ever again, after Sherlock had sneaked after him like this. Another sob caught in his throat and Sherlock blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Come here, Sherlock!"

Under other circumstances, Sherlock wouldn't have obeyed his brother, but the situation was already bad enough and it wouldn't help if Sherlock ran away now.

Slowly, head bowed and shoulders hunched, Sherlock made his way over to Mycroft and Greg and stood in front of them. They had even drunk champagne - Sherlock's mind pointed out to him as his gaze fell on the cork of a bottle - although it wasn't important anymore. They would continue doing whatever they wanted to do and Sherlock...

"You won't tell anyone about Greg and I, understood Sherlock?"

He nodded. What else was he supposed to do when Mycroft sounded so angry. Besides, Sherlock didn't have anyone to talk with, so it was a easy promise.

"If I hear any rumor about us, then..."

"Whoa, Mycroft stop! Your brother is already upset enough."

Slowly, Sherlock raised his head and looked at Greg. His estimation about the age of the young man had been correct - a few years older than Mycroft - and he wore a friendly smile as he met Sherlock's gaze. Light blue eyes, full lips and brown hair, rather average, but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to hold it against the man. He obviously made his brother happy after all.

"Greg Lestrade, you must be Sherlock." Baffled, Sherlock accepted the hand of the young man and even managed a small nod, well aware that his brother was still glaring daggers at him.

"You still have to promise me not to tell anyone about us," Mycroft reminded him and Sherlock turned around to his brother. He had meant to glare at him and pretend that Mycroft's words didn't affect him, but Sherlock was well aware of the way his voice cracked as he answered. "Who should I tell about you? I certainly won't tell... our parents and... I don't have anyone else to... I don't..."

The rest of his words were drowned in sob as Sherlock averted his eyes. He knew that he was behaving like a baby right now. Crying over nothing, but it just hurt... it hurt so much that his brother didn't trust him. "I'm sorry... for interrupting you... I'll just..."

"Shh, come here, Sunshine!"

Sherlock startled as a hand grabbed his wrist and he was drawn down to the towel and found himself enveloped by two strong arms. He remained stiff at first, not used to such close bodily contact. No one ever hugged him - besides Mycroft - and most of his peers got out of their way to prevent even touching Sherlock. So, it was a utterly new sensation to be hugged by Greg, who Sherlock didn't even really know. Yes, new, but certainly not uncomfortable. Especially not, when Greg started rubbing soothing circles on his back and Sherlock felt himself relax. The tension drained from his body and his sobs subsided until he could breath more calmly once more.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" Sherlock nodded and took a shaking breath, finally daring to raise his head and meet Greg's gaze for the first time. Soft blue eyes looked gently at him and a small smile tucked on Sherlock's lips.

"Thank you," Sherlock murmured, not exactly sure how he was supposed to act in such a situation, but the answering smile on the young man's face showed that it was the right thing to say. "You're welcome, Sunshine and now sit down so that we can talk."

Unwillingly, Sherlock drew back from Greg and did as he was told. Sitting cross-legged on the towel, but not daring to look at Mycroft. His brother couldn't be thrilled that his lover's attention had been on him, after Sherlock had interrupted their date.

"I`m sorry I followed you," Sherlock spoke to his toes. It probably was better to tell Mycroft right away why he had done it, before his brother got even angrier. "I thought that you were meeting someone and I wanted to know why you didn't tell me about it, so I decided to find out for myself."

A snort sounded next to him, but Sherlock kept his eyes focused on his feet. Mycroft would probably not scold him again, after Greg had comforted Sherlock, but that didn't mean that his brother was appeased. The next few weeks would be terrible, Sherlock was sure of that. Mycroft could be very cold when he wanted to be and Sherlock didn't know if it was possible for him to endure Mycroft's icy glares, when he knew how caring his brother usually behaved towards him. New tears prickled in Sherlock's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He could cry, when he was at home again. No one would care anymore if he stayed in his room the whole day and cried his heart out.

"Now you know, why I didn't tell you." The voice of his brother was cold and collected and Sherlock flinched at the tone. It would be best if he agreed with Mycroft, when he was so angry, but Sherlock doubted that the truth could make matters worse than they already were.

"No, I don't know why you didn't tell me about... Greg."

Another snort and Sherlock imagined how Mycroft rolled his eyes - like he always did when Sherlock said something stupid - before he answered. "Please, Sherlock, don't play dumb. Even you must have noticed that Greg is a bloke."

Sherlock peeked up, but instead of looking at Mycroft, he focused his eyes on Greg. At least, Mycroft's lover was still looking warmly at him. "I know that he is a bloke. Middle-class, both parents working, so that he has to look after his little sister on some afternoons. They have a cat at home, although he is allergic of cats, but his sister loves it and he didn't want to see her sad. He has already planned his career and he wants to move in with you, which means that he is probably out to his parents or at least doesn't fear that they find out that you are together."

The smile on Greg's face grew even wider after Sherlock's speech and a small chuckle escaped him. "Mycroft didn't exaggerate when he told me that you were almost as good as he is, when it comes to deductions."

Sherlock decided that he truly liked Greg. He wasn't only nice to his brother, but he also didn't belittle Sherlock for his deductions and that was entirely new for him. Most people hated Sherlock for how well he was able to read them.

"Yes, and because Sherlock knows all this, he should know why I didn't tell him."

Annoyed, Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "Maybe, I'm really as stupid as you think I'm, but I don't see why you kept your relationship a secret from me. There is nothing wrong with Greg."

"Thanks, I guess." A small laugh escaped Greg's lips and Sherlock noticed how he winked at Mycroft, but his brother still looked sour.

"You mean, apart from him being male."

Blue eyes widened as they stared at Mycroft and Sherlock shook his head in denial. "Why should that be wrong? I`m not our parents, Mycroft. You should know..."

Sherlock bite on his lower lip as he gulped heavily. Was that it? Hadn't Mycroft told him about Greg, because he had thought that Sherlock was just as homophobic as their parents? That hurt, as Sherlock couldn't remember a time, when he had given his brother any reason to believe that.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Blinking, Sherlock gazed at his brother. Grey eyes had softened as they regarded him and Mycroft looked guilt stricken as he inched closer to Sherlock and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I wanted to tell you at first, but then I remembered how it is at Eton and that you certainly must have heard some jokes about gays and... I convinced myself that it was better if I didn't tell you."

Sherlock grimaced, but he still leaned against Mycroft as his brother drew him closer. "Why should I listen to my stupid peers, when everything points out that homosexuality is perfectly normal?! I never listen to them."

This time, Greg laughed in earnest as he listened to Sherlock's reasoning. "You know, Mycroft," he gasped as his laughers subsided into chuckles. "Sherlock is really just like you in some ways. I can almost imagine how you were when you were as little as he is."

An affronted expression - it wasn't a pout - appeared on Sherlock's face. "I'm not little anymore. I'm nine."

Mycroft's snort was amused this time and in spite of his best efforts, Sherlock felt an answering tuck at his own lips. It seemed as if his brother wasn't angry at him anymore, although Sherlock was still upset that Mycroft hat so little trust in him.

"Sunshine," Greg addressed him and Sherlock found that he rather liked the endearment. It certainly was much better than _freak_ or _weirdo_. "When you saw Mycroft and I together, what did you think was the reason for Mycroft not telling you about us? You said that there was nothing wrong with me."

Sherlock sighed and gazed at the lake. They hadn't really talked about this part and now that Mycroft seemed appeased again, Sherlock really didn't want to start this conversation. Still, it would be rude not to answer Greg's question. Usually, Sherlock didn't care if he was rude, but Greg was nice and he loved his brother, so an answer seemed the least Sherlock could give him. "I heard that you were talking about moving in together and I thought," Sherlock took a shaky breath as he forced the words out. "I was convinced that Mycroft was tired of me and that he hadn't told me about you, because he wanted to cut me off... from his life."

The words hurt, even more when they were spoken aloud and met with shocked silence. Sherlock ducked his head. Any second now, Mycroft would laugh at him for being so stupid or - worse - he would confirm Sherlock's theory and...

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mycroft sounded upset as his arm around Sherlock's shoulder tightened. "I would never cut you off from my life. You are my smart, little brother and that's never going to change."

New hope started to bloom in Sherlock's heart as he gazed up at his brother. "Really?"

Mycroft usually hated if someone asked such a ridiculous question, but this time he didn't scold Sherlock for it. He merely smiled. "Really."

"You are always welcome to visit us, if we manage to move in together, when Mycroft starts university," Greg assured him as he moved to sit at Sherlock's other side. "I'm not trying to steal your brother away from you."

The tension that had been built up in Sherlock during the whole day, drained at once from him and left him almost boneless with relief as he sagged against Mycroft. Greg's arm came around his other shoulder and Sherlock had never felt so safe and cared for as in this moment. Encircled by Mycroft's and Greg's arms, Sherlock was certain that this day had played out better than he had hoped this morning. Sherlock had feared that he would lose Mycroft and instead he had gained another big brother, who liked him.

A huge smile lit up Sherlock's face as Greg leaned over him to press a kiss to Mycroft's lips, only to ruffle Sherlock's hair afterwards. Life had never been more perfect than in this moment!


End file.
